


Awe

by no_kitty_thats_my_pot_pie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_kitty_thats_my_pot_pie/pseuds/no_kitty_thats_my_pot_pie
Summary: "Awe" by Dr. Frederick Chilton is the tell-all memoir detailing his suffering at the hands of Francis Dolarhyde (or, the Red Dragon; or, the Tooth Fairy, if Chilton is feeling petty) and his quest for answers as he recovers from this horrible tragedy. Also inside is the truthful encounter of his surprisingly tender romance with receptionist Inelle Corey, real interviews with people from Dolarhyde's past, and lots of digs at Will Graham. Buy now to help support Dr. Frederick Chilton's bank account and ego.





	1. Reviews, Table of Contents, Acknowledgements

**Author's Note:**

> Chilton fucking rules.

**Rave reviews for Dr. Frederick Chilton’s _Awe_**

“A stunning piece of nonfiction…Chilton’s account of his horrifying encounter with the Red Dragon and his search for answers about the killer’s past makes for a harrowing read.” – _USA Today_

“ _Awe_ operates as a true crime novel and a memoir about a victim’s recovery, and executes both with precision.” – _The Washington Post_

“Factually accurate and emotionally gripping…quite simply, the best book about the Tooth Fairy ever written.” – _The New York Times_

“Dr. Frederick Chilton offers his unique, unflinching look at a ‘vicious, perverted, sexual failure’ and the consequences of that statement. His memoir leaves us equally in awe of Francis Dolarhyde and Dr. Chilton for surviving him.” –Freddie Lounds, _Tattle Crime_

 

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Interview

Chapter 2 – Atoning

Chapter 3 – Awe

Chapter 4 – Understand

Chapter 5 – Healing

Chapter 6 – Knowledge

Chapter 7 – Return

Chapter 8 – Friendship

Chapter 9 – Purpose

Chapter 10 – Love

Chapter 11 – Investigation

Chapter 12 – Truth

Chapter 13 – Closure

 

Acknowledgements

_For Inelle_


	2. Chapter 1 - Interview

**1.**

I want to begin by saying that this memoir is constructed from the graveyard of my unfinished book, _The Dragon Slayer_. That book was an objective analysis of Francis Dolarhyde (the Red Dragon) and his crimes, but after I had my own encounter with Dolarhyde, I could no longer be objective. Still, it would be a shame to let so many hours of research and psychoanalysis go to waste, so I included much of that writing here rather than abandon it. I know firsthand how difficult it is to study a killer after suffering at their hand, but fortunately, I have someone very close to me who encouraged me to use my emotional connection to my advantage.

“Only you can write this book, Fred,” she told me and she was right. Unfortunately, no one understands Dolarhyde better than me.

I first began writing _The Dragon Slayer_ at the very peak of Dolarhyde’s fame, when he was commonly called the Tooth Fairy due to his tendency to bite the bodies of his victims and the grotesque size and shape of the bite marks. I was eager to return to true crime writing after the success of my first book, _Hannibal the Cannibal_ , where I explored the mind of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a cannibalistic serial killer who once masqueraded as my friend. I knew it would be difficult to follow a fascinating subject like Dr. Lecter, but I thought the “Tooth Fairy” to be a worthy successor, and set to work researching and analyzing his crimes right away.

Because I wasted no time studying Dolarhyde at the early stages of his reign of terror, I was more knowledgeable than most about the psyche of the then unidentified killer. I was approached by Dr. Alana Bloom, who invited me to assist the FBI in Dolarhyde’s capture because of my expertise – or so I thought. I was asked to collaborate on an interview with former FBI profiler Will Graham. I agreed because Dolarhyde’s arrest would spare more families of pain, as well as provide an ending for my new book. I had no idea my participation in this interview would soon become the biggest regret of my life.

I arrived at Mr. Graham’s hotel room directly after my conversation with Dr. Bloom and was surprised to see Freddie Lounds lounging in one of the pale blue couches with a notebook in hand. I did not expect this particular reporter to be included in the interview because of Mr. Graham’s distaste for Ms. Lounds and her brand of tabloid journalism. Mr. Graham made no effort to mask his annoyance and stewed on the far side of the room by the window. Jack Crawford, head of the Behavioral Sciences Unit at the FBI, was also present and had no patience for Mr. Graham’s reluctance. Mr. Crawford told him not to be shy and to air his grievances.

“Why is she here?”

“She’s here because we need someone who’s less interested in the truth than the best story,” Mr. Crawford replied.

Mr. Graham and Ms. Lounds squabbled for a bit, but I tuned them out. I cared about working with them to catch a killer, not about their petty mutual dislike, and used the time to quickly survey the room. It was a spacious room, complete with a king size bed and an entire set of living room furniture. It was large enough to fit Mr. Graham’s family – except perhaps the pack of dogs – but he resided there alone. I privately thought that Mr. Graham had been accommodated nicely for assisting the FBI and could stand to be a little more pleasant.

I interjected when the discussion turned to the killer in question; specifically, whether he should be addressed as the “Tooth Fairy” or “the dragon.” I had learned during my discussions with Dr. Lecter that he disliked the nickname given to him by the press and after beginning my psychoanalysis, I discovered why.

“The killer’s objection to the name the ‘Tooth Fairy’ is likely grounded in the homosexual implication of the word ‘fairy,’” I said. “Tedious, I know, but if you really want to piss him off, that’s what you should call him.”

Dolarhyde’s two nicknames are so wildly different that it is almost comical. A dragon is obviously the more threatening and masculine of the two, and Dolarhyde’s insistent preference told me that masculinity was important to him. Even more importantly, he wanted to preserve the perception of masculinity. Their own public image is precious to killers and I knew insulting his reputation would be the key to catching this killer.

Publicly insulting a serial killer is dangerous, but at the time I believed I was safe from repercussions. It had been explained to me that Mr. Graham was the intended bait to lure Dolarhyde out of hiding and I was there to provide the knowledge about the killer for Mr. Graham to use to aggravate him. I was happy to help the investigation wherever I was needed and Mr. Graham counted on that.

I sat in a plush chair directly across from Ms. Lounds’s seat on the couch. She turned on the recording device that sat on the coffee table between us and gestured for me to begin. Mr. Graham did not sit down and instead paced restlessly behind me. I did my best to ignore the distraction; just because he was uncomfortable did not mean I had to be.

“The Tooth Fairy’s actions indicate a projective delusion compensating for intolerable feelings of inadequacy. Smashing mirrors ties these feelings to his appearance,” I said authoritatively.

In both his previous crime scenes, Dolarhyde smashed mirrors and used the shards of glass to cover the eyes of his female victims postmortem. He likely felt insecure in his day-to-day life and combatted these feelings with aggressive and masculine acts, such as dubbing himself “the dragon” and torturing the women to death.

Mr. Graham cut in sooner than I expected with a hyperbolic interpretation of my statement: “Not only is the Tooth Fairy insane, he is ugly and impotent.”

I admit that Mr. Graham’s interruption caught me off guard. I had not intended ‘inadequacy’ to be a reference to Dolarhyde’s sexual performance and was momentarily puzzled by Mr. Graham’s insertion that I thought Dolarhyde was impotent. However, I quickly recovered and pushed on because he was _supposed_ to aggravate my claims, after all.

“There is a strong bonding of aggressive and sexual drives that occurs in sadists at an early age,” I said, deciding to take a cue from Mr. Graham and steer the conversation towards the killer’s sexual past. This was more of a general statement about serial killers than specifically about Dolarhyde himself, but it matched what I had learned about him from studying his crimes.

“He’s a vicious, perverted, sexual failure,” Mr. Graham said.

Those words halted my thinking. It was a juvenile way of describing Dolarhyde’s behavior and I was not keen on Mr. Graham’s description being associated with my name. I shot him a quizzical look, but he was unfazed. Ms. Lounds was scribbling excitedly in her notebook, which did not quell my fears at all. This was a rather unpleasant moment to remember what kind of reporting _Tattle Crime_ was famous for.

“The savage acts aimed primarily at the women and performed in the presence of families are clearly strikes at a maternal figure,” I said, and I had hardly finished talking before Mr. Graham added his own version:

“The Tooth Fairy is the product of an incestuous home.”

This was once again a gross exaggeration and not at all what I meant. Dolarhyde’s decision to single out the mother of the family to torture and then rape after death shows he harbored resentment towards a maternal figure in his life. His aggression towards these women was likely reflective of violence he experience from that figure during his childhood. Many serial killers are victims of abuse growing up, and I felt compassion for Dolarhyde when I imagined the monster he endured as a child and whose mistreatment haunted him as an adult.

“This is the child of a nightmare,” I said and Mr. Graham had nothing to add.

Ms. Lounds turned off her recording device and once the interview was over, I felt my annoyance at Mr. Graham slip away. Instead, I felt a deep uneasiness in my gut. Mr. Crawford suggested Mr. Graham pose in a photo showcasing his “Washington hideaway” and I considered for the first time that I may be in real trouble. Mr. Graham refused Ms. Lounds’s initial suggestion for a photograph and went to stand by the window.

“Make sure you can see the fountain and the Capital Dome. The dragon needs to be able to find this place if he…wants to,” Mr. Graham said.

I stood up, unsure of what to do now that the attention had shifted away from me. Mr. Graham quickly took notice of me.

“Frederick, would you like to be in the photograph?”

“One for the dust jacket,” I agreed.

I was pleased to be included in the photo because I thought I deserved recognition for my participation in the FBI’s plan to catch Dolarhyde. I also believed the interview would be a useful way to stir up publicity for my new book and remind America of my public presence. I briefly forgot about my previous worries about the interview because I was preoccupied with thoughts about how this would fit into the ending of _The Dragon Slayer_. Then, Mr. Graham put his hand on my shoulder right before the picture was taken and by doing so, marked me.

Several days later, my picture and interview were featured in the new publication of _Tattle Crime_. Ms. Lounds had always swiftly produced new content at an impressive rate and soon this particular article had garnered all kinds of attention. I was eagerly awaiting news about Dolarhyde’s capture and I hoped he would be taken alive so I could interview him. My biggest challenge there would be getting to him before Ms. Lounds.

I was accompanied everywhere by two FBI agents after my own interview. I had insisted and Mr. Crawford seemed happy to oblige. I ignored the uncomfortable feeling I got after Mr. Crawford did not reassure me that an FBI escort was unnecessary and their presence lulled me into a false sense of security. After some time had passed and nothing bad happened, I was happy to believe that nothing would, and that I was safe.

Nearly a week after my interview with _Tattle Crime_ , I paid a visit to Ms. Jones, an attendant at the museum Dolarhyde visited, to get information about her encounter with Dolarhyde. She gave me a physical description and some details about his mannerisms, but did not remember much else about the killer. I met with her on her lunch break at the new office building where she worked and afterwards, I took the elevator to the parking garage, flanked by my FBI escorts. I was on the phone with my publisher and was in the middle of telling her that I already had ideas for my third book when Dolarhyde struck.

He was waiting for me in the parking garage that day. I do not know how he found me or knew my schedule and I still sometimes wonder. One of my FBI escorts opened the car door for me since my hands were full with my briefcase and cell phone, and I slid into the backseat, unaware I was in any danger. Dolarhyde shot the two FBI agents before they could join me in the car. He had a silencer on the gun and was able to commit these murders without alerting me. The car door on my right jerked open and in the back of my mind, I thought maybe it was one of my escorts, but I did not have time to give it much thought at all.

Dolarhyde grabbed my jacket and yanked me towards him. He was extremely strong and dragged me out of the car with ease. I dropped my cell phone during Dolarhyde’s manhandling and it fell to the pavement. It all happened so quickly that I was unable to register any emotions other than shock. Dolarhyde clubbed me on the head with the butt of his gun and I was knocked unconscious.

That is the last thing I remember before waking up a captive in Dolarhyde’s home.

I was told before agreeing to do the _Tattle Crime_ interview that Mr. Graham was the intended bait for Dolarhyde. This is technically true, I suppose, but he and Dr. Bloom failed to mention that they intended to put me at risk all along. Mr. Graham put his hand on me in the picture to falsely portray comradery between us, like a man and his beloved pet, and Dolarhyde kills pets first.


	3. Chapter 2 - Atoning

**2.**

I returned to consciousness slowly, inching my way towards full awareness one sense at a time. It felt almost as if my body knew I was in danger before my mind did and was reluctant to let me leave the safety of unconsciousness. I was faintly aware of my eyes and mouth being covered, but I was so groggy that I had not yet concluded that I was gagged and blindfolded. The first physical sensation I felt was the female sanitary pad that covered my eyes being slowly peeled off. Next, my gag was removed and I became aware of how dry my mouth was. I swallowed and moaned softly from the dryness in my throat.

The stickiness from my makeshift blindfold kept my eyes firmly shit and it was difficult to open them, so I didn’t. The pain in my head threatened to overwhelm me and staying in the comfort of darkness made it manageable. Suddenly, I was faced with a strong, pungent odor and the smell thrust me out of my groggy state. My eyes flew open and I gasped for air as my mind began operating on high alert in an attempt to make sense of my situation. I was sitting down in a hard, uncomfortable chair. I was in a dark room and facing the wall, similar to a child in time-out.

I vaguely remember a hand carrying a small bottle of something exit my eye line, but at the time this did not register as important. I did not know where I was or why I was there, and puzzling out who was there with me and why was too much for me. All I could focus on was the pain I was in: my throbbing head, my aching back, my itchy, burning skin.

A voice from behind me asked if I wanted a blanket. I was indeed cold, but still too disoriented to answer. I did not need to because a scratchy blanket was soon draped around my shoulders. The hands that put it there settled on my shoulders and applied pressure, reminding me of the pain in my back and my skin.

“My back hurts,” I complained as this person, Dolarhyde, moved across the room. “My skin…did I get burned? I hope to God I am not burned.”

At this time, I was still operating under the assumption that the person there with me was an ally – or at the very least, not my enemy. I sought answers from him and trusted him to give them. I heard him sit on a couch behind me and the sound seemed deafening in the quiet room. He did not give me a satisfactory answer; instead, he repeated the word “burned” several times in that deep, menacing voice of his. I sensed anger in his words and thought, for the first time, that perhaps I should be afraid.

“You rest there,” he told me.

Words like that often have a gentle and loving connotation; someone who wishes rest upon you is typically someone who cares about you. Several figures come to mind, such as nurses caring for a patient or parents doting on their sick child. There was none of that tenderness in this voice and it raised alarm in me.

“What am I doing here?” I asked.

“Atoning,” he said darkly, “Dr. Chilton.”

Dolarhyde’s knowledge of my name struck fear into my heart. I was alert now, completely aware of the strangeness of my situation and the danger I was in. I attempted to stand up and flee, despite my sluggishness and the pain I was in. It was doubtful that I could outrun Dolarhyde, but my mind could not comprehend this fact over my heart hammering in my chest. I discovered that I was stuck to a wooden wheelchair, glued with epoxy and unable to move. The glue explained the burning sensation on my skin and realizing it was being used to hold me captive filled me with terror.

It had become clear that the pain I felt was not the product of unknown, yet un-alarming circumstances, but a part of my punishment. This man was angry with me and planned to inflict revenge on me for reasons I did not yet know. I did know, however, that my best hope for survival was to assure this man that I would be no threat to him once released.

“I have not seen your face. I could – I could not identify you,” I stuttered. “I d-do not know what you look like…so…”

I hoped my reasoning would appeal to him by making him realize that he truly does _not_ have to do this. I had offered him a sensible way to elude the FBI even after kidnapping me and hoped this knowledge would aid me in convincing him my life was worth sparing.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly and it was true. I was far too afraid to attempt to discover which murderous psychopath wished me harm, especially since it was a very long list. “I do not want to know, believe me.”

“According to you, I am a vicious, perverted, sexual failure,” Dolarhyde said. “You know now…don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

It was now abundantly clear that I was being menaced by the Tooth Fairy, but in that moment, I realized it was not the right nickname for him. The “Tooth Fairy” suggests a whimsical amateur and did not at all fit the menacing, dangerous creature I was trapped with in that moment. The creature, Dolarhyde, moved across the room, towards me. I was still faced towards the wall, but I tracked his footsteps and wept in terror as I prayed he would keep away from me.

“Why did you lie, Dr. Chilton?” he asked and I could not give a proper answer.

I did not lie because those were not my words. Mr. Graham had called him a “vicious, perverted, sexual failure,” but I could not admit that without also implicating myself. It likely would not matter what my exact words were if he knew that I was involved in a plan with the FBI to catch him. Still, I could not help cursing Will Graham silently. _He should be here, not me,_ I thought. _He was supposed to be the bait. Not me._

“Do you understand what I am doing?”

“No! No…but I think I have an opportunity to understand. Then all my readers could understand, too,” I said.

“Do you feel privileged?” Dolarhyde asked.

My mind was racing with fear and that made it difficult to properly think, so I had to slow down to consider what he meant. At first, I thought he was referring to my privileged life as a bestselling author and successful doctor in my field; in comparison to his own life, this was likely grounds for anger, however unjustified. Then it occurred to me that he was a narcissist, as all psychopaths are, and that he might imagine it was an honor for me to be in his presence.

“It is a privilege,” I agreed, then proceeded to share my vulnerabilities, in hope of triggering his own humanity, “but I have to admit, I am scared. Man to man, I am scared, and it is hard to concentrate when you are scared. If you have a great idea, you do not need to scare me for me to be impressed.”

Dolarhyde hovered closely behind me and repeated my own words in my ear, sounding more like a beast than a person: “Man to man?” I gasped and trembled, as each hot breath I felt on my neck sent another jolt of fear through my body. “You use that phrase to imply frankness, but you see, I am not a man. I have become other…I am more than a man.”

The breath on my neck ceased as Dolarhyde straightened behind me, but I did not relax. He was speaking nonsense, as if he believed he _was_ a dragon, and I realized that he was truly insane. I had little to no chance of reasoning with this mad man, but I had more experience with talking to psychopaths than he realized, so I held onto that last shred of hope.

“Do you believe God is in attendance here? Are you praying to Him now?” Dolarhyde asked.

“We pray to God when we are scared,” I said.

I spoke carefully, hoping to answer his question and also distance myself from the truth. I was raised Jewish, but I do not know if I believe in God’s existence anymore, thanks to my extensive study in psychological fields. However, I _do_ pray when I am in perilous situations, which happens much too often, I must say.

“Does God answer you?”

I rambled for a bit, my words stuttering and tripping over one another as my mind spiraled. I desperately searched my mind for an appropriate answer that matched what I thought he wanted to hear, but terror made it hard to think.

Finally, I settled on, “I do not think about it after. I ought to.”

“You ought to?”

“Yes. I ought to.”

At this point, Dolarhyde began to rock my wheelchair back and forth ever so slightly and the movement terrified me. I suspected he had grown tired of talking to me and was ready to torture me physically, which I wanted to avoid at all costs. I whimpered in fear as I tried to think of words to say to an insane killer hell-bent on hurting me. Nothing sprang to mind.

“There are so many things you ought to understand,” Dolarhyde said, “and in a little while, I will help you understand.”

He slowly turned the wheelchair around so that I was no longer facing the wall. The rest of Dolarhyde’s living room came into view and I squeezed my eyes shut to avoid seeing anything else. If Dolarhyde showed me his face, I will be able to recognize him in a line-up and he will have a good reason to not let me go.

“No!” I cried, desperate. “I do not want to see your face!”

I heard him move swiftly from behind the chair to directly in front of me. I felt his breath on my face and surmised that he was crouched to maintain eye level with me. It appeared that his face was inches from mine and I kept my eyes firmly shut, hoping to save my own life by reasoning with Dolarhyde.

“Open your eyes and look at me or I will staple your eyes to your forehead,” Dolarhyde snarled, and he sounded like more beast than man. His voice made a small part of me believe he truly was otherworldly, although I knew this to be impossible.

I tentatively opened my eyes, despite my every instinct warning me against it. Unfortunately, I had no choice and was forced to behold “the Dragon” against my will.

It is difficult to properly explain Dolarhyde’s appearance or the horror I felt witnessing it. I will attempt to replicate my experience so my readers can understand, but know that my description is likely a fraction of how petrifying the event was in reality.

Dolarhyde had black mesh fabric over his head, blocking most of his face from my view. Even so, I could see his face contorted with hatred and the thin material separating us did not stop its heat. He possessed a cleft palate on his top lip, which confirmed my analysis about having a troubling appearance. Dolarhyde wore a long, dark kimono and nothing else. He was hunched over to maintain an eye-line with me; this beast of a man loomed over me menacingly and I shrank away from him. Or rather, I tried to. I attempted to flatten myself to the back of the wheelchair, but there was no escaping. Dolarhyde snarled at me.

I felt a scream rising up in my throat, but the scene was interrupted by a doorbell. It sounded incredibly loud in the quietness of Dolarhyde’s dining room. Dolarhyde’s head snapped towards the direction of his front door, and he and I both stared at it, transfixed. A woman’s voice called out to him from behind the door. She called him “D” and it was clear they knew each other, and that she was not just an unfortunate telemarketer.

Dolarhyde swiftly backed my wheelchair against the wall and whispered into my ear: “Make a noise and I will kill her.”

He approached the door and I was puzzled when he made no attempt to alter his appearance. I heard them conversing at the front door, and the woman commented that he told his office he was home sick. She heard and brought him soup. I pondered how Dolarhyde’s employer thought he was sick in bed, but he was holding me hostage instead. If I was not so afraid, I may have found it amusing.

Dolarhyde’s lady friend walked towards the foyer where I was being kept, and the two of them came into view. Hope soared for a few moments; I thought that perhaps I would not have to make a noise because this woman would discover me on her own. She may even persuade him to see reason. There was a tenderness in his voice when he spoke to her that led me to believe he may listen to her.

My hope was not alive for long. It died when Dolarhyde’s friend, a slim black woman, surveyed the room and her blind eyes passed over me. I later learned her name was Reba McClane and she was employed at the place Dolarhyde got his pictures developed. Reba wore a long, black overcoat and had curly hair the same color. She was a pretty woman and felt utterly out of place in this room, in Dolarhyde’s world. She seemed to sense there was tension because she repeatedly scanned the room, even as she talked kindly to Dolarhyde.

“I didn’t come just to bring you soup, D,” she said. “I suppose I’m guilty of liking you. Demonstrably guilty…and I know you like me, too.”

Dolarhyde shifted uncomfortably, awkwardly fumbling with the Tupperware of soup she presumably gave him at the door. She was blind, yet he still avoided looking in her eyes as he answered.

“I do.”

There was softness in his voice that had not been present before. His beastly demeanor disappeared, and he was completely, unequivocally human. His “I do” was so tender that it betrayed his romantic feelings for her. There could be no other interpretation.

“I’ve learned that withdrawl can be a strategy to avoid pain. I have a deep vein of cripple’s anger in me. Although I can’t get rid of it, I’ve made it work for me,” Reba said, and surveyed the room once more. “It’s fueled my independence. I’m not so scarred by life that I’m incapable of love. I hope you aren’t, either.”

While writing this book, I have recalled the dialogue to the best of my ability in order to accurately account the experience between Dolarhyde and myself. I do not remember every word that was said and, thus, some improvisation was required. As I say this, however, know that the entirety of Reba’s speech in the paragraph above is verbatim from her lips. She spoke so eloquently and with such kindness that I did not know Dolarhyde had in his life, that I could never misremember what she said to him.

It was an incredibly tender moment – one that Dolarhyde resented me for intruding on.

As Reba turned to leave, Dolarhyde gave me a withering stare, just to let me know he had not forgotten my presence. I had dared to witness a private moment between them and the rage on his face was palpable, even from several feet away and underneath a black mesh mask. In that moment, I wanted to call out to Reba more than ever. I sensed I was in very real danger, perhaps more so than before, and I thought, _Surely he will not kill his sweetheart. That was just an idle threat…_

But I could not risk it.

I sat in silence as Dolarhyde walked Reba to the door, shut the door firmly behind her, and returned to the foyer to resume his torture as if nothing had happened.


End file.
